


well, it's gotta be close to midnight

by andawaywego



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: And Hook, Because gross, Drunk!Snow, F/F, but not many, mentions of Captain Swan, pretty angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 11:39:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10570545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andawaywego/pseuds/andawaywego
Summary: "She’s probably imagined it about five times, but she never expected it to happen in a dimly-lit bar with Snow White passed out on the couch behind them and the lingering weight of Emma’s (maybe) engagement hanging between them.But that’s how it happens."SQ. Set during 6x15.





	

**Author's Note:**

> set between Emma's wishy-washy boo-hooing and actually going home in last week's episode.
> 
> didn't want it to diverge from canon too much. this episode made me feel a lot of things, some of them good, but i really wanted to showcase a lot of what Regina could be feeling (and Emma of course) in the midst of all the bad. 
> 
> mostly it's just me venting and trying to figure out my own feelings. 
> 
> hopefully it is found well. 
> 
> read on, friends.

…

_well, it’s gotta be close to midnight_

_.._

 

“I didn’t know you could actually be bad at getting drunk. It’s almost embarrassing. I’m embarrassed _for_ you.”

Regina listens to the dim cadence of Emma’s voice and lets herself smile, light and unfiltered. She can taste the bitterness of her gin and tonic sticking to the back of her throat. At least, she thinks distantly, Emma is smiling and not crying and possibly not thinking of that damn pirate _at all_ right now.

She laughs, a little too late, but Emma seems to appreciate the act of it anyway and keeps on smiling and not crying.

Not thinking of Hook.

“Can I let you in on a secret?” Regina murmurs, and she presses her palms flat to the face of the table and, even now—even _years_ after Snow White wielding betrayal like a gift—she’s nervous to let _anyone_ in on _any_ secrets. Even silly ones.

Emma is watching her, this time. Roles reversed or something like that. She has pale fingers wrapped around her mostly-empty beer mug and the condensation slips across her knuckles.

Regina lets her eyes follow the movement. That little drop of water.

Even now, though, Emma seems to read her so well. Understands the bit of nervousness making her stomach twirl.

“Sure,” she says, and then, “I mean, I’m not ten and, I hate to brag, but I can _definitely_ keep secrets better than someone I know.”

It’s finished off with this little judgmental glint in her eyes as she briefly glances behind Regina to where Snow is lounging on a dusty-looking sofa by the pool table. It’s possible that she’s passed out by now, after roughly _three_ full Horse-and-Groom’s.

Regina laughs again and Emma is still smiling. She pushes her full glass forward and looks at it. “I’ve been nursing the same drink all night,” she says, like it’s some big thing and not, honestly, expected.

The look on Emma’s face tells her she already knew that.

Regina feels on display like she always does with Emma but, for the first time in a very long time, it doesn’t feel dishonest.

“Of course you have,” Emma says and takes a long drink from her mug.

It sounds playful and Regina mocks a scoff. “What?”

“You mean, Coupon-Mom didn’t want to get wasted on a school night?”

Laughter begins to bubble up inside her chest at the nickname, the thought of it, the thought of Henry sitting back at Emma’s (and Hook’s) and working on _A killer Spotify playlist, Mom_ like he had been at her place the weekend before.

“I’ll have you know that my _coupon_ is what got your mother into such a fun mood before you even deigned to bless us with your presence, Sheriff,” Regina tells her and Emma laughs so suddenly that she snorts a bit of air, pressing her hand into her mouth in embarrassment.

“Good, yeah, great, Madame Mayor,” she says. “You bargained a cost-effective pre-game for your stepdaughter. Lovely.”

Even the reference to Snow having once been—

It doesn’t dampen the mood. Regina is still grinning.

Somewhere behind them, a song that heavily features bagpipes is wailing on the jukebox because _of course it is_. It’s been a long time since Regina has been in this bar or any bar. In the back of her mind, she thinks of Robin sitting in that tavern in the other world—in both other worlds and how she always leaves him drinking alone.

Emma, pleased with herself, arches back to stretch in her seat, as if sore from all this sitting or just the _act_ of coming out at all, and Regina lets her eyes follow the stretch of Emma’s arms and nearly imagines them braces above her, pressing her into the wall or the mattress or—

Now, the back of her mind is saying _Gods_ and it’s quickly followed by _She’s engaged._

But, is she anymore?

And that’s not the point at all, anyway.

Regina blinks and looks away and Emma reaches over and takes Regina’s drink away from her, lifting it to take a sip and then wincing.

“Christ, Regina,” she moans. “It’s warm.” And she drops it back to the table as if it’s personally offended her. “You realize you can order anything you’d like, right? The bearded guys are picking up our tab. Hardly counts as a successful G.N.O. if you’re the only one not getting at _least_ pleasantly buzzed.”

She nods to the back of the bar where said men are still lounging around—one of them missing the horned hat that’s currently slanted on a sleeping Snow’s head—looking for all the world as though they’d like to just forget this night ever even happened.

“I realize, dear,” Regina says, nearly on reflex, but makes no move to remedy the situation. “Have you considered that my plans don’t necessarily involve intoxication?”

“Come on, I bet you drunk is even more fun than drunk Snow White,” Emma says.

Regina merely shakes her head and reaches across the table to grab Emma’s beer, choking a little when she goes to take a sip because Emma says, “There we go,” or something like that.

The beer tastes stale, like it usually does—she’s never been a fan—but she’s not drinking it because it tastes good. She’s drinking it to make herself feel better about all of this in the morning—about how nice this is, to be sitting here, having this conversation about nothing in particular that she’s somehow been aching for forever and a day.

She likes the way Emma reaches out to grab the mug back, brushing her fingers against Regina’s wrist.

She doesn’t want to think about how nice that is, either.

“Slow down, missy,” Emma says next, “Don’t wanna be sick in the morning.”

Regina leans back in her seat and thinks and then decides that there’s just no way that this Emma and Hook thing is over for good—Hook is enough of a pest that he’s always come back before to hang around and she doubts that this time will be any different—and _god,_ this is really giving her a headache.

“How about pleasantly buzzed?”

Emma snorts with laughter again. “Sure.”

Regina is smiling again. Emma flags down the bartender—some young thing to replace the taller man from before—and orders two more beers, one of which she slides over to Regina.

Emma won’t talk about Hook—hasn’t since she cried to the tall bartender before—and Regina is sick of this, honestly.

She’s so haggard from it, from constantly loving Emma and never getting anything back in return. Not the way Hook does. Not the way Emma’s parents do. Not the way Henry does.

She’s so tired of trying to make excuses for herself and burying herself in other people, other things when the only person she wants—

“Bottoms up,” Emma says and takes a big swig of her beer.

 “Thanks,” Regina says and it’s kind of sad that she’s resorting again to this sick sort of _hate_ for Emma for something that she doesn’t even know the full story of. When Emma sacrificed herself for Regina’s happiness before.

She’s not pressing anything anymore because Emma had wanted to open up to a complete stranger rather than to her and that had told her all she’d really needed to know about the situation.

Emma’s fingers skim across Regina’s thigh when she reaches forward to grab the bowl of peanuts just at the edge of the other side of the counter. As if she’s trying to steady herself or like she’s trying to get Regina to anchor her or something. Regina’s mind reels at the word _anchor_ and she’s back to scowling, back to thinking about Hook.

“No, thank you,” Emma says as she breaks apart peanut shells in her fingers. Regina watches her lips, the way Emma’s tongue darts out briefly in concentration—does breaking things require concentration?—and Regina feels more than a little mesmerized.

Buzzing under her skin.

But she’s not drunk, of course. Nowhere near Snow’s level.

There’s no excuse for it.

“For what?” she asks.

She tries to rid herself of that brief, lingering anger over not being trusted with Emma’s feelings. Tries not to let herself worry about something silly or girlish like that. Her and Emma don’t need that sort of thing, she tells herself, in order to be friends. Their relationship is built on something more substantial than swapping boy stories at a bar.

“For tonight,” Emma clarifies, not making eye contact as she says it. “You were right. I needed this.”

And Regina will probably never be able to stop the little thrill she gets from Emma telling her she’s right.

She goes to say as much because maybe she is a little drunk after all, but Emma stops her somehow and says, “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Regina rushes to say, which surprises even her because three seconds ago in her mind it _hadn’t been_. She’d been hurt over it. “You don’t have to be ready to talk about what happened or…” Feeling bold she reaches out and brushes her fingertips against Emma’s wrist—the bit of it that’s exposed past the thick expanse of her sweater’s sleeve. “Take your time.”

And Emma looks up with wide eyes as if no one—no one—has ever said that to her before. As if the weight of expectation has been keeping her down for years.

She’s probably imagined it about five times, but she never expected it to happen in a dimly-lit bar with Snow White passed out on the couch behind them and the lingering weight of Emma’s (maybe) engagement hanging between them.

But that’s how it happens.

Later she doesn’t remember who leaned forward and who didn’t, but Emma’s mouth is on her and it’s warm and fierce. There’s a slip of tongue, a shiver, and maybe they should stop.

Maybe this shouldn’t happen here at a bar with Snow White passed out on a couch behind them.

Regina slides back and breathes and she can still taste Emma’s tongue in her mouth, her fingers drifting to her bottom lip to try to trap the feeling there forever.

She tries to say _Sorry,_ but, in the interest of not lying, doesn’t.

Emma looks for a second—for all the world—like she wants to say it for the both of them, but she never gets around to it, never gets past the parted lips and the frenzied look and her hand is still on Regina’s thigh, making tiny circles with her fingertips.

She wants to ask why Hook left, even though it’s not her business and Emma might clam up at the question itself. She wants Emma to say that she’s tired of trying or something to that effect so that she can say _Tired of trying to do what?_

But she doesn’t know what to say, so she just doesn’t say anything. The silence is loud between them and someone has shut off the music. It’s possible that it’s just them left, just the two of them staring at each other and Snow snoring in the corner of the room.

No one is here to witness this. The bartender has even slipped away and maybe that’s for the best.

Emma’s hand is still on her thigh, so Regina rests hers on top of it and links their fingers together.

“I think I’ll need more than half a warm gin and tonic and one-third of a beer next time,” she says to break the silence and is surprised when Emma smiles, looking just as dazed as Regina feels. “And perhaps we’d do better to simply let your mother stay in.”

Emma smiles and it’s bright in the dim room. She nods, her lips wet and a little bruised. “Next time,” she agrees.

Her fingers tighten against Regina’s.

Regina holds on.

…

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Out Tonight" from Rent.
> 
> sorry this is bleak, but the show sort of is now even if Drunk!Snow made me temporarily forget it. 
> 
> but there's some hope at the next at least. 
> 
> still working on my multi-chapter, so sorry if you're reading that.
> 
> yell at me at housewithoutwindows on tumblr if you're so moved.
> 
> thanks, pals.


End file.
